


Alive

by Veto_power_over_clocks



Series: Decepticon Hot Rod AU [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Decepticon Hot Rod AU, Established Relationship, M/M, Some angst, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Writing updated to better fit the rest of the series, a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veto_power_over_clocks/pseuds/Veto_power_over_clocks
Summary: Everything had gone wrong.Hot Rod just wants to feel alive.





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> **Group chat:** Deadlock sneaking out of the medibay to smash Hot Rod because they've spent _years_ pining.
> 
>  **Me:** No. Hot Rod sneaking out of the medibay when they're already together because a mission went to hell and he needs to remind himself that he's alive.

They’d said that there were barely any Autobots on the planet, that thirty Decepticons would be more than enough to take the base, that it was more about making a statement than about the planet having any sort of strategic relevance. They’d said Hot Rod was lucky, that he had an easy victory ahead of him.

Hot Rod knows that things always find a way of going wrong, but even he’d felt optimistic reviewing the intel. It wasn’t going to be an ‘easy’ mission, but it looked like it wouldn’t be a memorable one.

That optimism hadn’t survived three seconds on the planet. They’d dropped onto it and immediately realized that many of them wouldn’t make it back. The Autobots had been waiting for them, and it had been more than the reported handful.

There had been bombs, there had been gunfire, and there had been Hot Rod flaming out. It hadn’t been a calculated flare, it had been a desperate attempt, fear for his living comrades and rage for the fallen ones turned into an inferno, Hot Rod trying to make the flames as big as possible, trying to reach farther than he’d ever done in an attempt to push away the Autobots. He’d had enough common sense to leave some fuel in his tanks to keep his systems running, but not enough to stop himself from hoping he’d manage to get back to Pache.

Now, everything is burning and it’s his fault. He’s so tired of burning things down.

He falls on his back, his body hitting the ground with so much force he thinks he’ll shatter, smoke filling his mouth until he can’t remember any other taste. He tries to drag himself away from the sounds of battle, but any attempts to move his own weight end with him falling back into the ground, and even the slightest movement sends stabs of pain that have him clenching his teeth and digging his fingers into the ground to keep himself from screaming.

There isn’t a single part of him that doesn’t hurt; there are at least a dozen bullet holes on his torso, he can’t move his left arm, and there’s a torn fuel line on his leg that’s going to kill him if it’s not fixed soon. There’s also something wrong with his nervecircuits, because his attempts to turn off his pain sensors have been unsuccessful.

Judging by how the fight had been going, he doubts he’ll make it out alive. Sure, some Decepticons will make it back to base, but he’s not naïve enough to believe someone will bother dragging him to the transport. He’s the only idiot in the Decepticon army that goes out of his way to try to save injured soldiers. How many times had Deadlock told him that that would get him killed?

Frag. Deadlock. He’s tried so hard not to think about Deadlock. Since the moment they landed and he saw the amount of Autobots they’d have to fight, Hot Rod’s been making a conscious effort not to think about him and how he’d unwittingly lied to him. Hot Rod had told him that he’d return. Hot Rod had said, “See you tonight.” Hot Rod had kissed him slowly, sucking on his lower lip, caressing his finials, and when Deadlock had reached for the cover of Hot Rod’s interface panel, Hot Rod had broken the kiss with a laugh and said they’d continue where they’d left off when he returned.

Distantly, he wonders how Deadlock will feel about the fact that Hot Rod  _wasn’t_ killed while trying to save others, that he’d simply been forgotten in a battlefield, just like every other soldier. At least Hot Rod isn’t getting killed because of his principles, that should give Deadlock some relief. Or maybe he’ll be disappointed? He might be angry. Furious, even. That’d be nice. It’s better to think about the many ways he knows Deadlock  _won’t_  react, because thinking about how hurt he’ll be, how broken, makes him try to move again, and that’s just more pain. He hadn’t meant to lie to him. He has never wanted to hurt him.

So much for not thinking about Deadlock.

He resigns himself to lying on his back and watching the smoke curling up towards the sky, because closing his eyes means having more of his processor available to feel every part of his body that hurts, more of his processor available to think about his broken promise, more of his processor available to think about everything he has burned down in his life.

.

.

.

.

He wakes up in a medibay. He wakes up in  _the_  medibay, the one back at the base in Pache, the one where he and Deadlock have ended up far too many times through the years, the one where the medic sighs resignedly whenever he sees them.

“Welcome back,” said medic, Doctor, greets him from the side of his berth. Hot Rod can barely turn his head to look at him, because everything still hurts, although less than before. A quick assessment tells him that the fuel line has been patched up, that his arm’s moving again, and that there are far more wounds on his body than he’d thought at first. “There was shrapnel in you, you know?” Doctor says, as if reading Hot Rod’s thoughts. “You were lucky.”

“How-” Talking hurts too. He resets his vocalizer and tries again anyway. “How did I get here?”

“All your foolish heroics throughout the years have made people fond of you.” Doctor’s tone carries a smile in it. “They dragged you to the transport and brought you here.” In a lower voice, he adds, “Literally dragged you. Your paintjob’s ruined.”

Hot Rod doesn’t know what to say. He just stares at the medic with wide eyes, replaying the words in his head to make sure that he heard right.

“Your… ‘protector’ reacted similarly, you know?” Doctor says amusedly. The teasing behind the word ‘protector’ doesn’t escape Hot Rod, and it makes a wave of guilt-tinged fondness rush over him.

“Deadlock?”

“No, Banshee,” Doctor deadpans. “Yes, Deadlock. I sent him away. I thought for a moment he was going to rip my head off for trying to separate him from you…” He shrugs. “Honestly, I think he would have if I wasn’t the only medic on this base.”

Deadlock had been there. Deadlock, who only asked him to stay safe, had had to see him like this, a mess of holes, spilled energon, and burned off paint.

Fire. Everything had burned and it was his fault.

Trying to distract himself, he looks around the medibay. In front of him, just a couple berths to the right, there’s a grey body, covered in scorch marks.

“Was that me?” he asks before he can stop himself. He manages to sound neutral. He manages to sound detached. He manages to sound like he doesn’t know the answer.

Doctor follows his line of sight and shakes his head.

“He was already heavily injured.” That’s not a ‘no’. That’s a ‘you accelerated the process’. Hot Rod’s hands twitch, making a clinking sound against the berth that brings Doctor’s attention back to him. “Don’t. Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t.” He checks something in a datapad and, without looking at Hot Rod, says, “Ask everyone who survived. They’re only here because you flamed out.”

Hot Rod clings to those words after Doctor leaves, but the corpse is still in the medibay, a reminder of the kind of damage he can cause.

He closes his eyes and tries not to think. It was supposed to be an easy mission. He’d checked the intel. Everyone had checked the intel, it was such a small mission that everyone had seen it. Had the spy failed? Had the spy lied? Or had the information been tampered with before it reached him? Thunderbird had given him the intel, had Thunderbird lied to him?

Hot Rod is aware of high command’s growing unhappiness with him. They think him soft. They think him brash. They think him irresponsible. They’re hoping he gets himself killed soon, and the fact that he has been marked by Deadlock is probably the only thing that has stopped them from trying to get rid of him directly. But this? If Hot Rod had died today, who could prove that it had been anything but an unfortunate accident?

What if those mechs were dead because of him?

He feels the energon freeze in his fuel lines. He feels his spark shrinking. He’s sure the room’s becoming smaller, and all he can think about is fire.

He can’t die, because he had promised Deadlock that he’d see him when he came back.

Slowly, he climbs out of the berth. Slowly, he makes his way out of the medibay. Slowly, he follows the path to Deadlock’s habsuite, a path he could follow with his eyes closed. Moving is difficult and painful, but Deadlock is close and Hot Rod has a promise to keep. He can’t worry about his injuries right now. Just a few steps more. Just another hallway. Just another door.

He uses almost all the strength he has left to knock on Deadlock’s door. It opens almost immediately, like Deadlock had been next to it. Perhaps he had been sitting there, waiting for news, unwilling to fall into recharge in case someone came to find him with news about Hot Rod, fearing the sort of news he’d receive.

Deadlock’s eyes widen and his lips part slightly, shock evident on his face and his field. Hot Rod can’t blame him; he doesn’t paint a pretty picture right now. He hopes Deadlock doesn’t mind.

“Hot Rod?” Deadlock says, voice full of concern and a level of tenderness that clashes with all the guns attached to his frame.

Hot Rod uses what’s left of his strength to reach up and pull Deadlock down for a kiss, letting his weight fall against Deadlock.

He isn’t gentle. He wants Deadlock close, needs to replace the taste of smoke that fills his mouth with that of Deadlock and bury the phantom memory of fire under the warmth of Deadlock’s body against his own, so he kisses him desperately and hungrily, his hands trying to find purchase on Deadlock’s armor now that Hot Rod’s legs have decided to give up.

Except Deadlock isn’t kissing back. He’s still, hands keeping Hot Rod in place and then gently pushing him away by the shoulders and holding him upright.

"You're hurt," Deadlock says, looking him over and clearly assessing all of his injuries. Hot Rod can almost hear his processor classifying them according to severity. It fills Hot Rod with a mixture of fondness and frustration.

“I’m fine,” Hot Rod says, letting his head fall against Deadlock’s chest. Primus, he’s tired.

“Did you sneak out of the medibay?” Deadlock asks quietly.

“No.”

He doesn’t need to look to see that Deadlock doesn’t believe him.

“Maybe?” Deadlock’s thumbs draw circles on his shoulders. “Yes,” he mutters.

“Hot Rod…” Deadlock reproaches.

“I  _had_ to.” He looks up to find Deadlock looking back at him with poorly hidden concern, which turns into an amused smirk at Hot Rod’s words.

“You  _had_ to?”

“There was a body, Deadlock. A burned corpse. I just- _I_ did that. It’s my fault. Again I-”  _Don’t make me talk about Nyon_ , Hot Rod thinks.

There is a pause before Deadlock softly says, “I get it,” walking backwards and dragging Hot Rod with him to hide them both inside the relative safety of his habsuite. Once the door has closed, he puts his arms around Hot Rod to hold him in a loose hug, lowers his head to put his forehead against Hot Rod’s and closes his eyes. “What happened?” he asks tensely, with an undercurrent of anger that would scare Hot Rod if he thought it was directed at him; but he can’t remember a single time at which Deadlock had turned his rage towards him.

Hot Rod closes his eyes as well and puts his arms around Deadlock’s waist.

“Bad intel. There must have been a hundred Autobots there.” His hands curl into fists as he remembers the fight. “Doctor says we only survived because I flamed out.”

“I heard that,” Deadlock says quietly, moving to press his lips to Hot Rod’s forehead. “He also told me that someone dragged you here.”

“Did you thank them?”

“Of course I did. I owe them my life.” Deadlock’s lips are still against Hot Rod’s plating, and his words engrave themselves on it, keep burying themselves until they reach Hot Rod’s processor and become part of his coding.

Hot Rod moves back slightly to look at Deadlock. He looks broken and afraid, the way he only looks when it’s Hot Rod’s life on the line. If Hot Rod had known he’d have the power to make Deadlock so vulnerable, he wouldn’t have approached him; it terrifies him to think that he’s one of the few things in the universe that can bring Deadlock down. At the same time, he never wants to lose this, never wants to stop being able to bring out this side of Deadlock, this secret tenderness that makes Hot Rod wish he could turn the stars into a crown and weave the darkness of space into a cloak, impossible and beautiful decorations for this impossible and beautiful mech he loves.

He reaches up to cup Deadlock’s face with a hand, to delicately run his thumb over Deadlock’s lips. Deadlock turns his face to kiss Hot Rod’s palm.

“Remember what I said this morning?” Hot Rod says. “Before I left. After I kissed you.”

He can feel Deadlock’s smile against his hand.

“I do. But you’re injured now.”

“Deadlock,  _please_.” He puts his hand behind Deadlock’s neck.

“Rod…”

“Deadlock, I need you. I…” He lets go of Deadlock and stumbles backwards, closing his eyes as Deadlock’s hands on his shoulders steady him. “I can smell the smoke. I can feel the flames. I thought…” He lets out a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a cry. “I thought I’d die there today. I thought…” He sighs. “I feel like I’m still there. I kept thinking what you’d do if I died there. I kept thinking I’d never see you again and I… Deadlock,  _please_ ,” he finishes, opening his eyes to look pleadingly at Deadlock.

Deadlock’s hands drop to his sides.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

That makes Hot Rod smile. “When have you ever hurt me?”

Deadlock looks at him for a few seconds, brings up a hand to Hot Rod’s neck, traces a path down to his chest and settles over his spark.

“If you want me to stop, tell me,” Deadlock says, looking directly at Hot Rod’s eyes.

Hot Rod nods and immediately finds himself being lifted, one of Deadlock’s arms behind his back and the other under his legs.

Deadlock is... soft. That's the only word for it. He lowers Hot Rod onto the berth gently, like he's afraid he’ll shatter, and kisses him deeply, slowly, until Hot Rod can’t remember the taste of anything but Deadlock. He tries to raise himself enough to bring Deadlock closer, but any attempts to move end with Deadlock breaking the kiss to ask him to lie down again and check his injuries. It drives Hot Rod crazy with need, and he has to clench his teeth and dig his fingers into his palms to keep himself from screaming in frustration.

"You said we would interface," Hot Rod says in a tone that's somewhere between a whine and a plea.

"No, I didn’t. You assumed I’d agreed,” Deadlock says with a teasing grin that makes Hot Rod let out an undignified sound. Laughing, Deadlock presses a kiss to the side of Hot Rod’s mouth. “We will, Rod, I promise,” he murmurs, while one of his hands lowers to settle on the cover of Hot Rod's interface panel. "But what I  _did_  say was that I didn't want to hurt you."

Deadlock’s fingers tap a short rhythm on Hot Rod’s plating and then they’re gone, leaving Hot Rod feeling too cold. Hot Rod tries to put his arms around Deadlock’s neck to pull him down for a kiss, but Deadlock just grabs his hands and pushes them down onto the berth as he says, “Lie back and leave this to me,” so softly that Hot Rod can’t do anything but comply.

Deadlock kisses down his neck, down his chest, his arms, his legs. Deadlock kisses around every wound and traces paths between them with his tongue, his fangs never even grazing Hot Rod's plating, as if he was afraid of causing more scratches. He slips his fingers into the gaps of Hot Rod's armor, teasing cables, and runs his fingers up and down transformation seams, every touch feather light, but still capable of making charge build up in Hot Rod. It's like Deadlock's trying to get him to overload in the slowest way possible.

He'd probably be able to do it, stubborn as he is.

Hot Rod has accepted that he can’t get him to adopt a quicker pace, has resigned himself to lying back with his eyes closed to fully enjoy even the softest brush of Deadlock's tongue and hands, writhing in aroused despair as he feels charge building up excruciatingly slow.

Every touch is good. Every touch is perfect. Hot Rod finds himself whimpering a couple times, lost between the worship behind each delicate press of Deadlock's fingers, and the desire behind each purposeful stroke of Deadlock's tongue. He wishes he knew what he did to elicit these feelings in Deadlock, how he managed to crawl under Deadlock's plating to get to his spark, what sort of trick he pulled that has allowed him to stay there, curled up and safe in the warmth of Deadlock's love. He wants to know so he can repeat it every day, so he doesn't have to live in fear of Deadlock reaching the same conclusion that Decepticon high command reached: that Hot Rod's not worth the trouble, that the sooner he gets himself killed, the better.

He doesn't want to die. He wants to stay here, in Deadlock's arms, every touch a reminder that he has made it through the day and an encouragement to survive the next one.

By the time Deadlock finally takes out the cables and establishes the connection, Hot Rod is trembling with need. He almost overloads with the first pulse of energy that Deadlock sends.

"It's okay," Deadlock whispers into his audial, hands still tracing Hot Rod's seams. “It's okay, I've got you.”

"No," Hot Rod manages to say, dazed by the strength with which Deadlock wants him. He can feel it through the connection, intense and devoted; if before he’d wanted to cry with need, now it’s because of the way Deadlock sees him. He sends a pulse back, tries to show Deadlock how he feels about him, how he wants to survive this war to protect the side of him that he only shows around Hot Rod. "You too."

For some reason, the words make Deadlock chuckle.

"Of course," he says, raising himself enough to look at Hot Rod's face. "But you first," he adds before introducing his fingers into one of the gaps of Hot Rod's chest armor, close enough to the hole on his spark casing that Hot Rod's spark reacts to the proximity, a flare that has him overloading with a cry and reaching for Deadlock, needing him close.

When he comes back to himself, he finds that he’s holding onto Deadlock’s shoulders and moaning into his neck, Deadlock’s charge steadily rising because of the sensory feedback.

Hot Rod nips at Deadlock’s neck, alternates between scratching with his fangs and sucking, enjoying the way it makes Deadlock’s hands falter in their movements over Hot Rod’s frame.

There’s energy going back and forth between them now, Deadlock getting clumsier in his movements, and Hot Rod is determined to make him overload before he does so again. He turns his head to the side to expose the mark at the base of his neck, the one Deadlock had made so long ago to show the world that Hot Rod was under his protection. Deadlock leans down to press his lips to it, to kiss the scar and lick it slowly, and through their connection Hot Rod can feel the possessiveness and surrender associated to the gesture, the endless repetition of  _Mine/Yours/Mine_ that Deadlock associates with the mark.

Hot Rod searches with his fingers alongside Deadlock’s torso until he finds the mark he left there years ago, hidden so as not to reveal the true nature of their relationship. He traces the edges of the scar with his fingers, Deadlock’s thoughts changing to _Yours/Mine/Yours_ and mixing with Hot Rod’s  _Mine/Yours/Mine_.

“I love you,” Hot Rod says, bringing his other hand to caress Deadlock’s finial. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Deadlock’s sensory feed telling him how good that feels, good enough to push Deadlock over the edge, his moans buried into the mark on Hot Rod’s neck.

Deadlock’s data feed tells Hot Rod that Deadlock’s thinking of  _him_  in awe, that Deadlock is thinking of  _him_  as beautiful, and that’s the last thing Hot Rod’s somewhat aware of before his own overload hits.

“How are you doing?” Deadlock asks after he has stopped shaking, his hand cupping Hot Rod’s face and his other hand holding his weight so as not to put any pressure on Hot Rod.

“I’m fine,” Hot Rod says. “Perfect.” Radiant. Happy. Content. There are too many words for how he feels. Deadlock can probably hear them through the connection.

Deadlock kisses him before disconnecting the cables and moving to lie next to him.

“Doctor’s going to kill us,” Hot Rod says to distract himself from how his wounds are keeping him from curling into Deadlock's side. He stares at the ceiling and tries and fails to regret his actions.

“Let him try,” Deadlock says. Hot Rod doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “He won’t stand a chance.”

“True,” Hot Rod says, taking Deadlock’s hand. “But he’s still the medic. He can withhold treatment from us.”

“He wouldn’t. He’s supposed to have principles.”

Hot Rod tries to laugh at that and squeezes Deadlock’s hand. Principles. He thinks about the fiasco the mission was and wonders again if it was a mistake or a set-up. Was it Thunderbird? Had Thunderbird betrayed him? Crystal Wing? Someone high up enough to be able to give Thunderbird fake information unnoticed?

He takes his questions and buries them inside his head, right next to the way Deadlock had looked at him when he’d opened the door. He can examine all that later. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow sounds good. Tomorrow he’ll think about whether or not the mission had been a disaster on purpose or accidentally. Tomorrow he’ll think about all the things that have been going wrong with the Decepticons. Tomorrow he’ll worry about the possibility of dying and leaving Deadlock alone.

Tonight he’ll sleep safe in the knowledge that he and Deadlock have made it another day.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the "relevant" bits of this thing started being drafted on the back seat of a car, with my mom sitting next to me, and the radio tuned to a religious station.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos are always appreciated, comments feed my soul and make my day.
> 
> If you liked this fic and feel like promoting it, would you consider reblogging [this post](http://veto-power-over-fanworks.tumblr.com/post/180315645650/alive)? Thank you!


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